Desire by Design (8 page)

“Old buildings make strange noises. It sounded like someone was walking around in here. I got nervous.” Eve’s soft brown eyes swam in her pale, elfin face. “And I thought I saw someone watching me through the front window. I turned off the lights so he couldn’t see in.”

“Why didn’t you lock the door instead, so he couldn’t
get
in?”

“I didn’t want to be locked in with anyone, either…in case someone was already inside.”

That made sense.

Whoever had been watching Eve, if he was still out there, he could certainly see everything now. Matt discovered he didn’t like the idea of being spied on any better than Eve had.

He gave up. He wasn’t going to yell at her for working alone. Not at the moment, when he had something more important to do first.

Her whole body shook as she reached for her briefcase. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

“In a minute.” Injured or not, if there was someone inside the building, Matt planned on kicking butt.

Ignoring the pain in his leg, he limped through every room in the main floor of the building. Eve clung close to him, her fingers twisted in the tail of his untucked shirt, hammering home to him without words just how spooked she’d really been. The thought of her crouched in the dark—afraid and armed only with a nail gun for protection—filled him with helpless fury. And if he felt that way, how helpless must Eve be feeling?

There was a kitchen with a storage room and a locked rear entrance, the main meeting area with the enormous street-front window, and two single-unit washrooms. There was no access to the upper levels of the building from inside. The place was empty.

“Can we go now?” she asked when they arrived back in the main room.

“Just one more minute.”

Matt took her by the hand and hobbled over to the large front window, then turned to stare down into her upturned face.

Her tear-dampened eyes glistened with such a look of remorse, he wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. She shouldn’t be sorry. If the person spying on her tonight was the same one who’d broken into her house, it was time he learned that Eve didn’t have to defend herself. Not anymore. And if that person was her ex-husband, it might help for him to think Eve was now off-limits.

Matt cupped her cheeks between his palms, threading his fingers through her hair. The rich, silky strands were smooth and cool against his skin. This time, he hoped her trembling had nothing to do with fear.

“Matt, this isn’t such a good idea,” she began, correctly interpreting his intention. She tried to pull back. “Anyone outside can see us.”

“That’s the whole point.”

Matt had been waiting for this moment ever since the night he’d missed his chance in the bushes at his uncle’s fundraiser. Now he had a perfectly legitimate excuse. He covered her mouth with his own and cut off her words, intending only to put on a show for whoever might be lurking outside.

He was unprepared for the knife of desire that stabbed through him, hot and hard. He was unprepared for a lot of things, like her warmth and the delicate touch of her fingers as they stole around his waist to smooth the sensitive spot at the base of his spine. Or the heady way sawdust smelled when mixed with the tantalizing scent of a woman. His tongue flitted briefly over her lips before plunging deeper, his fingers twisting in her hair.

But what threw him the most was the sudden, soul-deep conviction that Eve, prickly and unpredictable, and without a domestic bone in her body, was the woman he wanted.

The subtle shift of her hip jarred the nail lodged in his thigh, and a small groan escaped him. She broke away and backed up a step, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts beneath her ridiculous flannel shirt telling him she wasn’t unaffected, although her eyes were cautious now.

“What was that for?” she asked, suspicion sharpening her tone.

Matt cleared a throat that felt like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. He might want Eve, but she didn’t want him. Not yet.

“So that whoever’s watching will think you’ve got a man in your life,” he said. “Since we’re already living together, I guess that makes me the likeliest candidate.”

“We aren’t ‘living together,’” she pointed out, her eyes darkening. “We’re roommates.”

A lone car hummed by on the street outside, the reflection of its headlights bouncing off the far wall. It seemed she found simply the idea of living with him distasteful. Good thing Matt’s ego was healthy.

“Call me what you want,” he said, “but you may as well take advantage of me as long as I’m around.”

She muttered something that sounded sort of like, “Men” and “marking their territory.”

“What was that?” he asked, but she shook her head.

“All I wanted was a ride home.” She reached once again for her briefcase. “Now,” she said briskly. “Do you want me to
take you to Emergency, or were you planning to remove that nail by yourself? Because I have a pair of vice-grips around here somewhere if you’d like to borrow them.”

If their situations were reversed, she would undoubtedly remove the nail from her own leg. With her teeth. Matt weighed trying to impress her against the amount of extra pain it would involve.

“Emergency,” he said.

…

The crowded Emergency room was hot and smelled of unwashed bodies. The bright fluorescent lights were blinding as Matt registered, then limped to a vacant chair. Eve was forced to sit across from him, and he made a careful assessment of the other patients in the room.

He might be the only patient with a nail in him, but he doubted if he were the only one who’d been shot. It was a toss-up if Eve would be safer here with him or at home with her new security system.

“You don’t have to wait with me,” he told her, leaving the decision up to her.

“I shot you,” she said. “I should at least keep you company.” The man on her left got up and moved. She smiled at Matt, patting the now-empty seat. “Care to join me?”

This was going to be a long night.

Several hours later, Matt’s name was called. He eased himself off his chair.

“You coming?” he asked Eve.

The nurse who’d called his name looked at the form in her hand, then addressed Eve. “Immediate family only. Are you family?”

Matt wasn’t about to leave her in that waiting room by herself. She might not have noticed it, but there was a three-hundred-pound, tattooed, pro-wrestler type eyeing her with open interest. Matt laced his fingers through hers and hauled her to her feet. “She’s my wife.”

The nurse tapped the line in question with her finger. “You’ve listed your mother as your next-of-kin.”

“Apron strings,” Eve said. “He can’t seem to cut them.”

Her comment earned a few laughs from the people around her, and Matt’s face warmed. Did she always have to have an answer for everything?

The nurse shook her head back and forth, jowls bouncing, and slipped her clipboard under one ample arm.

“Honey, all men are the same. A little boo-boo and they want their mommies.” She hustled them through a swinging door, then behind a curtain. “I’ll just leave you here, and you can help your husband get his pants off.”

This wasn’t how Matt had envisioned the first time Eve helped him out of his pants. He waited until the nurse left, then said, “You can turn your back.”

“Oh, please.” Eve rolled her eyes. “I grew up with three brothers. If you have anything I don’t already know about, I’ll be sure and tell you.”

He was sure she would—and probably everyone else within earshot. He was also certain that his own reaction to having her see him without his pants on would be entirely different than any reaction from her brothers. He didn’t need that commented on, either.

“Turn your back,” he growled.

With a little sniff and a lift of her slender shoulders, she did as she was told. Matt eased the torn pants off, got on the stretcher, and pulled a thin sheet over his hips and legs. It was bad that he had to be half-naked in front of Eve right then—he wasn’t even wearing a hospital gown.

A young resident came in, took one look under the sheet, then sent Eve to the other side of the curtain.

“You’re going to need a tetanus shot when we’re finished,” he said to Matt. The nurse returned with a tray of instruments, and the doctor selected one. He held it aloft and flexed it.

“Hang on. This is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me.”

Chapter Seven

How much Demerol had they given him, anyway?

The first bright-red streaks of dawn shot skyward over the horizon as Eve steered Matt from the car to the front steps, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. He was every bit as heavy as he looked.

“
Please
, Matt. You’ll have to lift a leg if you’re going to get up these stairs,” she panted. She draped his arm around her shoulders, wrapped both of hers around his waist, and braced herself against his substantial body mass. “You’re going to have to help me out a little.”

If he didn’t, she’d have to leave him passed out on the doorstep until the neighbors got up. Sticking a beer can in his hand would make a nice touch.

She didn’t dare laugh for fear she’d cry. This was all her fault. She’d never been afraid of working alone on a job site before. She’d done it dozens of times in the past.

Matt swayed, nearly knocking Eve off her feet. “I can do this myself.” He seized the wrought-iron railing in both hands and hauled himself up a step. “See?”

She held her breath and prayed he wouldn’t fall backward. If he did, she’d never get him off the ground. He outweighed her by at least sixty pounds, maybe more.

They made it through the front door. He studied the flight of stairs in the foyer, frowning in concentration.

“I can climb those if I hurry.” He slumped back against the wall. “But you’d better go up first,” he added. “If I fall on you, I’ll probably kill you.”

He had a point. His movements grew more and more sluggish with every step, and Eve held her breath until he reached the top. She made an executive decision. Her room was the closest to the stairs and the bathroom. For the time being, he could sleep in there.

She helped him swing his legs onto her bed, then softened at the sight of him sprawled across the quilted bedspread, his dark head propped on her lace-trimmed, embroidered pillows.
My hero
.

Guilt gnawed at her. He’d come running to her rescue, and what had she done? She’d shot him. If she hadn’t panicked, none of this would have happened. If she hadn’t been avoiding him, none of this would have happened, either. When had she become such a wimp?

“Let me get these pants off you,” she said, reaching for the button at his waist. Her fingers brushed the crisp hairs on his stomach as she eased his zipper down.
Oh my God
. She was getting turned on by undressing a drugged and helpless man. How sad was that?

Matt’s heavy eyelids drooped. He reached over and touched her cheek. “Somehow, I’d pictured this moment differently.”

And men said women were teases. She should kiss him the way he’d kissed her at the café, then tell him it was all for show, and see how he liked it.

But if he could kiss her that way for show, Eve hated to think what it would be like if he kissed her for real. She grabbed the cuffs of his pant legs and pulled.

“You know,” she puffed, “you could help.”

A sexy, lazy look spread over his chiseled, unshaven face. “If I could help, this would have a totally different outcome.”

She almost tumbled backward off the bed. That was the Demerol talking. She shouldn’t pay too much attention to anything he said for the next few hours.

“Don’t bet on it,” she said, regaining her balance. “You’re like any one of my brothers.” Eve finished wrestling his pants off, then snapped her swinging jaw shut. He wore navy boxer briefs. She’d thought male models in underwear ads were the only men who looked good in them, but she was wrong. If not for the thick, white bandage around the top of one long, muscular thigh, he’d look like a model himself. To think he’d wasted all that on architecture.

She dragged the covers over him, then flopped on the bed beside him and thumped his chest with her fist. “You’re useless, too.”

“I’ve never had any complaints before.” Matt trapped her fist on his chest with one warm hand, and her heart shivered. He twisted onto his side so his face rested scant inches from hers. He touched a free finger to the tip of her nose on his third try. “And I am not like your brothers. Although they probably share a lot of my fr…” The word gave him a little difficulty. “Fr…frustration. Did they get mad at you much when you were little?”

“Never.” Eve reclaimed her hand and sat up, shoving the image of those boxer briefs out of her mind. “They adored me. Still do. Then again,” she amended, “their adoration needs to be put in perspective. These are the same guys who once tried to use me as shark bait.”

A dimple worked at the corner of his mouth. “They did not.”

“It’s true,” Eve insisted, wondering if she could get that dimple to flicker into a full-blown smile. In all fairness, she probably owed him at least a smile or two right now. “When I was seven years old my older brother Cyril took me down to the harbor at high tide, tied a rope around me, and he and his friends hung me off the end of the wharf because they wanted to see if they could catch a shark. They told me we were playing Peter Pan and I got to be Tinker Bell because I was the cutest. My two younger brothers stood back and watched.”

Matt’s face creased into the smile she’d been aiming for. “Did they catch anything?”

“Of course not. Sharks don’t come that close to land. Even if they did, they’d be more interested in fish than skinny little girls.”

Matt shifted one broad shoulder into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes. Just when she thought he was about to drift off, the corners of his mouth arced upward again.

“What was their reasoning for hanging Tinker Bell by a rope over the water?” he asked, his words threaded and slurred.

“So she’d have a soft landing if the fairy dust wore off.”

He laughed out loud. “I missed out on a lot, being an only child. It must have been nice growing up with people who were so concerned for your safety.”

“It’s easy to tell you don’t have any brothers,” Eve said. “They were disgusted with me for being so gullible.”

Matt peeled open one eye. “You were seven.”

“I was a savvy seven. Or so I liked to think.” She folded his torn, bloodstained pants and laid them at the foot of the bed.

“What other things are you gullible about, Eve?” he asked softly, trying to focus his eyes on her. “Working alone late at night in bad neighborhoods?” He cocked an eyebrow and glanced down at himself, then at her. “Helping men take their pants off?”

“I only do that for the men I shoot.”

“Sooner or later we’re going to talk about that, you know,” he said softly. “The men you shoot, I mean. Or the ones you’d like to. When I can think straighter.”

Matt was right. He deserved an explanation. Then he’d know how right her brothers were to be disgusted with her. But how did she explain a twisted, two-week train wreck of a marriage to Matt, a man who rolled his eyes at his own mother’s inability to commit?

She hopped off the bed. “I have to run over to the head office and get some papers, but I’ll be back soon. You should be all right by yourself for a bit—as long as you stay in that bed.”

“I’m coming with you.” Matt tried to sit up. “You aren’t going anywhere alone.”

She wasn’t having him get in the habit of following her around—not that she believed he could do it at the moment, anyway—but it was nice of him to worry. In fact, he was far nicer than she’d given him credit for initially. He’d seemed genuinely concerned when he’d come to her rescue, and not at all angry over her having shot him. He’d been more annoyed that she’d been working late alone in the café.

He was easy to like, and that made her uneasy. She couldn’t imagine why Matt should care.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she said.

He sagged back against her embroidered pillows, closed his eyes, then cracked them open again. “Okay. But you have one hour, Tinker Bell. Then I call in the Lost Boys.”

Eve hoped his sense of humor stayed with him long after the medication wore off.

…

Early morning traffic was light, and it wasn’t long before she walked into her cramped office at Sullivan Construction.

Calling it an office was a flattering overstatement. She was often at job sites, and the company had a conference room for meetings, so she didn’t require anything fancy. She had spare rolls of toilet paper stacked under a chair, and a pre-fab maple door, screwed to two sets of folding metal legs, served as her desk. But at least she had a window.

Elevators whirred in the hallway, then office doors opened and closed as the building slowly came to life. Time was wasting. Eve opened her briefcase and began to gather the things she’d need for a few days of working from home.

She had one foot out the door when the phone on her desk rang. She hesitated, then decided she’d better answer it. The hour Matt had given her was more than up, and although common sense told her he’d be dead to the world by now, she wasn’t used to looking after other people and didn’t want to take that chance. What if he needed her?

Marion Balcom’s cheery voice was a relief. “I was hoping you’d be an early bird!”

Eve wasn’t. She yawned and glanced at her watch. At the moment, she was more of a late-night person. Really, really late.

She shifted the briefcase from under her arm, letting it slide to the floor. “Hi, Marion. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you could find out for me what’s going to happen to the old City Hall.”

That was an odd request, since the fate of the building had nothing to do with Eve. “Wouldn’t you be better off calling the mayor’s office to get that information?”

“You know what Bob’s like. Getting anything out of him is like pulling hens’ teeth.” Marion gave a light, meaningful laugh, and Eve could sympathize. Bob had two sets of rules—one for himself and one for everyone else.

The information wasn’t exactly confidential, however, and Eve didn’t see any harm in helping. She knew what it was like to be brushed off by people with more important things to do than answer a few simple questions. Besides, Eve still wanted to impress her. Marion Balcom was high up on the food chain with the Department of Tourism and Culture, and she would be a great asset for Eve’s career, maybe even make up for the job she lost to Matt. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She gathered her things and drove home, then tiptoed into her bedroom to check on her houseguest.

He hadn’t needed her. Instead, he was sound asleep on his back with one arm flung out to the side, the other stretched above his head, his long body sagging deep into the thick mattress of her double bed. He’d thrown off the quilt, and the white, cotton sheet twined around his hips and legs like honeysuckle around a porch rail.

He didn’t look at all like an internationally renowned architect. He looked like an internationally renowned centerfold.

Looking at him like that, she tried not to think about the way he’d kissed her. It wasn’t like he’d meant anything by it. He’d only wanted Claude to think she had a new man in her life.

Eve bit her lower lip.

She reached out a reluctant finger, tracing it along the sweep of his jaw. Matt twitched, rolled onto his side, and let out a soft grunt. Eve snatched her hand back, grabbed her nightgown and bathrobe, then scurried out, easing the door shut behind her.

After shedding her clothes and crawling wearily into the bed in the spare room where Matt normally slept, she snuggled her cheek into a spicy, aftershave-scented pillowcase and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next thing she knew, someone was pounding on her front door. A travel alarm clock on the chair beside the bed read 11:07 a.m.

Eve pulled the pillow over her head, intending to wait until whoever it was had the decency to get lost, then remembered Matt was asleep, too, and needed the rest far more than she did.

She said a few rude words as she swung her feet to the floor, hauled on her bathrobe, then stumbled down the stairs.

Not even in her worst nightmare would she have expected to find Bob Anderson on her doorstep, wielding an armful of red roses. She clutched the neck of her bathrobe and blinked up at him, but Bob didn’t comment on her appearance, although she knew quite well how she looked—like she’d just crawled out of bed.

“These are yours,” he said, thrusting the roses at her, the clear cellophane wrapping crackling. “Is Mattie here?”

She was speechless. Why was Bob Anderson bringing her flowers?

He stepped past her into the foyer, casually inspecting his surroundings, and straightened a framed watercolor hanging on the wall. The small gesture irritated Eve. First Claude, now Bob. Men kept touching her private things without permission.

But Bob had every right to visit his nephew, and Eve was determined to be nice, because for some strange reason, Matt actually liked the mayor.

Bob was looking at her, waiting for some sort of response. What had he asked her?

Something hit the floor above their heads.

“Eve!” Matt shouted. “Where are my pants?”

A ball of ice tumbled into the pit of her stomach as she scanned her memory. They were at the foot of her bed, right where she’d left them.

No way was she going to yell that out in front of Bob.

“How should I know?” she called back.

“Because you had them last.”

This would be a good time for some natural disaster to hit. An earthquake, perhaps.

“Matt,” she choked out, her voice cracking. “Your uncle’s here.”

Scuffling and swearing could be heard, and she assumed the Demerol had worn off and his leg was hurting. Either that, or Matt was as excited about Bob’s being here as she was. A few seconds later he hobbled to the top of the stairs, zipping his torn, bloodstained trousers over his Jockeys.

Bob’s eyes widened. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I shot him,” Eve said, tilting her chin up to peer over the fragrant petals in her arms.

“With a nail gun,” Matt added. “She was working late last night at a job site. Alone. I surprised her.”

Bob frowned at Eve. “You shouldn’t be working alone at night,” he said. “What’s the matter with you?”

Be nice
, Eve reminded herself. Bob had a right to be here. But wait until Matt moved out.